


Undercover Without Cover

by cactusnell



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactusnell/pseuds/cactusnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock needs Molly to join him in Spain.  Undercover?  Or under covers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undercover Without Cover

The two doctors were sitting in the canteen at St. Bart’s sipping bad coffee and engaging in good conversation. John Watson had completed his rounds, and before making his way back to his office had stopped to talk Molly Hooper out of her cold morgue and into a hot cuppa. As per usual when these two got together, the conversation inevitably turned to the world’s only consulting detective, the great, and greatly annoying Sherlock Holmes.

“So,” Molly started curiously, “Have you seen the great man lately?”

“Nah. He was really busy on a case for Mycroft. Something hush-hush, I assume. The he holed up at Baker Street for a few days. Drove Mrs. Hudson crazy with the violin. He texted me yesterday. Said he was going on holiday, of all things.”

“Holiday? Sherlock doesn’t go on holiday.”

“Yeah, I know. Strange, but not unusual for Sherlock. He’ll tell us about it when he’s ready. Or not at all. When was the last time you saw him, Molly?”

“It must be about ten days ago. He came in looking for a liver, settled for a kidney and a bag of chips, and left without saying goodbye. Nothing unusual there…” Molly was interrupted by her mobile signalling an incoming text. “Speak of the devil,” she said to John, as she glanced down.

I NEED YOU - SHERLOCK

“It seems I’m being paged, John,” Molly said, showing him the text.

“Well, better you than me!” her companion said as he rose to leave, “Got to get to the office. Give the git my regards, Molly.”

The next text soon arrived.

I HAVE CLEARED SOME LEAVE TIME WITH STAMFORD. A CAR WILL CALL FOR YOU SHORTLY. YOU WILL BE TAKEN TO THE AIRPORT. ALL IS ARRANGED. - SHERLOCK

I’M GOING SOMEWHERE? - MOLLY

SPAIN - SHERLOCK

BLOODY HELL! I HAVE TO PACK! AND FEED TOBY! WHAT’S GOING ON? - MOLLY

AS I SAID, ALL IS ARRANGED. JUST GET IN THE CAR AND GO TO AIRPORT. FLIGHT AT NOON. WILL EXPLAIN WHEN YOU ARRIVE. - SHERLOCK

Molly sat back in her seat, sipping the last few drops of her now cold coffee. Such was her life! A few years ago she was a simple pathologist, carving up cadavers, and dreaming of adventures that would never happen. Now she was sitting here waiting to be whisked off to somewhere in Spain, without any explanation, with the tall, dark and gorgeous man she absolutely adored, but who often treated her with slightly less warmth than her corpses. She may even get shot at to boot. She couldn’t wait to be on her way!

If Molly had been expecting some dashing spy type to spirit her away to the airport, she was soon disappointed to see Bill Wiggins making his way through the swinging door of her lab.

“ ‘Ello, missus. Ready to go? Gotta hurry, or you’ll miss the plane.” The rather disreputable looking man was a trusted member of Sherlock’s homeless network, so Molly went with him without question. Or, rather, with very few questions.

“What’s going on, Mr. Wiggins?”

“All I know, missus, is that there’s a suitcase packed and waiting in Jimmy Rafferty’s car, your cat is being looked after by Kitty Doyle, which seems funny, you know, with her name and all, Kitty. Cat.…”

“Wiggins!”

“Look, missus, the man didn’t tell me nuthin! All I know is me and Jimmy got to get you to the airport! You okay?”

“Yes. I suppose.”

They made it to Gatwick with barely a second to spare, so Molly had to run through the place, ticket in hand, dragging a small suitcase behind her. She would have liked to have had a spare moment or two to go through her unfamiliar luggage. Perhaps it would offer some clue about what awaited her. The ticket, of course, at least told her where she was bound. To Malaga, Spain, in Andalusia. The heart of Moorish Spain. The Costa del Sol. She had no idea if that was her final destination, but it would do for now. She settled into her seat, to contemplate her day she far, and try to figure out what exactly was going on. Her original thought had been some secret mission for Mycroft. But if that were the case, she would have expected one of his minions to collect her at Bart’s, not Bill Wiggins. A private case, then? Her mind drifted to dreams of cat burglars preying on the rich and famous along the Costa Del Sol. Glittering parties. Sun kissed beaches. Cocktails on terraces overlooking the Mediterranean. She knew she would be likely to be settled into a cramped room, looking out of a small window at a back alley dive of a cafe, or some such, but a girl could dream, couldn’t she. And, Molly thought, spending time with Sherlock Holmes on the beautiful coast of Spain, could, in fact, be the stuff that dreams are made of! But she was brought back to reality rather quickly. The small carry-on bag Sherlock had provided certainly had no room for glittering gowns or lavish accoutrements. Probably just everyday attire for a desperately single working woman on holiday in a place far too conducive to her romantic dreams.

The flight had lasted just about two hours, and when the plane descended over the blue-green of the sea, Molly was taken aback. Malaga was a city of some size, but the coastline it occupied was beautifully dotted with smaller towns, lovely beaches, and cliffs overlooking the sea. Molly had never been to Spain, and had been wanting to visit for some time. She hoped that there would be some time for sightseeing, even if Sherlock Holmes was no so inclined. Perhaps she would stay on, alone, for a day or two, after their business was completed, She could see herself walking the sandy beaches, and the small winding streets. Bullfights were out, but a tour of some of the Moorish architecture, or a trip to the vineyards in the mountains would be lovely.

When the plane landed, Molly was unsure of what would happen next. Would he meet her at the airport? But no. When she exited the gate, she came upon a rather rotund man, holding a sign which read “Dr. Hooper”.

“I’m Molly Hooper. Did Sherlock send you?”

“Ah, yes,” the man replied, with a heavy accent and much enthusiasm. He grabbed her bag. “I am to take you to the villa. It is not a long ride. Just under an hour. Come! Come! He will be impatient, and I can see why! He did not tell me how linda, how bella, you were. He will be impatient to see you, indeed!”

Molly was beginning to blush, knowing enough Spanish to know that the man was being very complimentary. And, if he thought that the detective would be impatient to see her for, uh, personal reasons, that meant he was not privy to the circumstances which brought her here. As far as he was concerned, they were just another couple in search of sun, sand, and romance.

The trip down the coast passed quickly. Fernando, or Nando, as he insisted she call him, was very pleasant company. They were headed toward Marbella, where he and his wife ran a small gift shop and a bed and breakfast in the heart of the town. His children, all five of them, were off on their own, and he was now almost semi-retired. But he would do anything for his friend Senor Holmes, as it seemed the detective had saved his eldest son from an undeserved prison sentence years earlier. That son had since given him three grandchildren, one of whom bore the remarkable name of Sherlock Julio Cavalerro Perez! He must have been very grateful, indeed.

Nando drove straight through the city of Marbella, explaining that their destination lay a short distance beyond, nestled on a small cliff above the sea. But even though he described it as a villa, Molly Hooper was not prepared for the charming sight which greeted her. It was a small white-washed house, set back from the road and some distance from any neighbor. Sherlock Holmes was waiting at the door, probably having heard the approaching vehicle. He greeted Nando in fluent Spanish, and Molly once again heard the words “lindo” and “bella” bandied about. The men seemed friendly as Sherlock took Molly’s bag from the older gentleman’s hands, and blushed slightly as Nando clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a wink. They soon parted company with a friendly handshake, and Sherlock led Molly into the house.

It was as lovely inside as out. The furnishings neither extravagant nor tacky, but a perfect fit for the rather rustic location. The kitchen was well-appointed, the bath large, with a shower and tub. Molly glanced out the rear door to see a terrace, and even a rather smallish pool. She looked at the detective questioningly, and he soon picked up her bag once again and led her to another room, the bedroom. The one and only bedroom, as it turned out. But, oh, it was lovely! Large windows with panoramic views of the sea. A huge bed draped with netting , and covered in pillows of all sizes.

“Sherlock,” Molly approached the tall man, and stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “Is it safe to talk? Any bugs?”

Sherlock smiled a bit before answering, in his normal deep baritone. “Not that I know of, Molly. Unless your are referring to the crawly type. There may be a few of those, although the house has recently had a visit from the exterminator. Some things in Andalusia can be a bit of a nuisance, you know. Mediterranean black widow spiders. Tiger centipedes. Processionary caterpillars…”

“Sherlock!”

“Ah. You weren’t speaking of that. Forget I mentioned them! None of them are fatal, anyway. Just a painful nuisance…”

So much for romance, Molly was thinking. “No, Sherlock, I hadn’t even thought along those lines, but thank you for the rather vivid picture. No, I mean, the case. What do you need? Why am I here?”

Sherlock hesitated for a moment before saying, “You must be uncomfortable in your London attire, Molly. Why don’t you change while I make us a late lunch, comida, they call it here. You must be hungry. And dinner isn’t usually until around ten. Then we’ll talk.”

Molly was quite overwhelmed with the curiosity, which had started with his first text message, and continued unabated. But she was rather sticky in her heavier clothing, and certainly ready for a meal, so she just nodded in acquiescence, and watched him head for the kitchen. She then reached for the small suitcase, and put it on the small chest at the foot of the bed to unpack. When she opened it she was not surprised that she found no glittering gowns, nor fancy accessories. The first layer consisted of a couple pairs of shorts, and three sleeveless cotton shirts, in coordinating colors. Next, she found three sundresses, certainly appropriate attire for this climate, on white, one yellow, her favorite color, and one splashed with colorful flowers. There were two pairs of sandals, one flat, one with a small heel, and a pair of espadrilles. Underneath the dresses, a pair of khaki slacks were folded over the bottom few layers. And there she found the surprises! A couple of bikinis. perfectly appropriate for the Costa Del Sol, but not like anything Molly had ever worn, and a sheer coverup. She had barely gotten over the shock of these items when she found the lingerie. Matching sets of bras and panties, dainty, and lacey, and, possibly, a little naughty. And the sleepwear! The only warmth to be achieved by wearing any of those would come from that generated in you sleeping companion!

‘Sherlock!”

The detective poked his head through the door, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “Problem, Molly?”

“May I ask who selected my attire for this trip?” Molly was beginning to think it was a cruel practical joke on the part Mycroft, or even some of Sherlock’s minions.

“Uh, I did, Molly. Is there a problem?”

“Just what kind of a case requires so little, uh, cover, to go undercover, Sherlock”

“Molly, we need to talk…” He entered the room, approaching her from behind as she stood over the bag, surveying the contents.

“Sherlock, did you really think that someone would be searching my luggage. I can understand if we are supposed to be a couple on a romantic getaway. But really, couldn’t you have packed at least one decent pair of pajamas….”

“Listen, Molly, you misunderstand…”

“Sherlock, I understand that it is a big bed, but there is only one, after all, and we will be sharing it! Am I seriously supposed to wear something like this?” Molly was waving a rather brief, lacy , black see through number in his face. “Or this!?” She now shoved a delicate pink item, also very brief, and obviously see through, under his nose.

“Well, obviously, it’s your decision, Molly. I myself prefer to sleep in the nude…”

Sherlock now had hold of her arms, and was backing her gently toward the bed, “Molly, I said, you misunderstand me. There is no case!” He then took unfair advantage of the pathologist’s shock, and pushed her gently down onto the bed. “We’re on holiday!”

“You don’t go on holiday, Sherlock,” Molly said as she was slowly pushed back onto the mattress, and Sherlock Holmes positioned himself atop her.

“There’s a first time for everything, Molly,” he said as as nuzzled her neck and moved over her carefully.

“You said you needed me…”

“That line has always worked in the past, Molly. And I do need you. But perhaps I should have been a bit more honest and said that I wanted you!” His kisses were moving downward, and he was currently working on the buttons of her blouse. “Are you getting a bit warm, Molly? In those heavy clothes. I know I am.”

“So, we’re on holiday. No crimes. No cases…”

“Nope,” he said popping the P, and moving his hand to her hip.

But Molly was beginning to regain her senses, if only a bit. “Sherlock, is this a one-off kind of thing. It’s alright, really, if it is, but I’d like to know,,,”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dr. Hooper. This is no one off! I’ve taken the cottage for at least a week!” He grunted a bit when Molly jabbed him in the ribs. “Besides, you know I’m an addict. Odds are, once we start to have sex, I won’t be able to stop. But I consider this a highly more desirable addiction than the drugs, in any case. The only side effect I can forsee are offspring…”

“Sherlock!?”

“Offspring, Molly! Mini me’s! Portable people! They may tend to get underfoot a bit, but I’m willing to put up with the minor inconvenience…” Sherlock chuckled at his own pun. “Get it, Molly? Children? Minors? Minor inconvenience?” He was rewarded with yet another jab in the ribs.

“So, we’re really on holiday? Can we go sightseeing?” Molly was not about to give in so easily.

“If you insist,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Although the only sight I’m currently interested in seeing is you in that little black thing…”

“A sex holiday, Sherlock? Like John and Mary?”

“You should be a bit more specific, Molly,” Sherlock muttered, once again finding himself busy with Molly’s neck, and her blouse’s buttons. “All honeymoons are sex holidays, but not all sex holidays are honeymoons. If you would prefer the later, Gibraltar is just an hour away, where we can be married with just a day’s notice…”

“You want to get married?”

“It really makes no difference to me, as I intend to spend the rest of my life with you, married or not. But, given societal constraints…”

Molly wrapped both her arms around his neck, and looked into his smiling blue-green eyes, saying with quiet passion, “I love you.”

Her detective smiled gently down at her, saying in response, “I know.”

The contented silence lasted for a beat or two, before the small woman spoke. ‘You’re not going to get away that easy you know!”

“Why not?” the man moaned, slowly rolling off her. “ It worked for that chap in that scifi movie you always make me watch! That scene always makes you cry!”

“Well, you’re no Han Solo!”

“What was it gave me above, Dr. Hooper? Is John Watson not tall enough to be my Wookie sidekick?” And before Molly could press him for more of a declaration, Sherlock took charge of the situation by once again positioning himself on top of her, and driving all thought of conversation from her mind.

Later that evening, as the sun was setting, the couple decided to forgo a late dinner, and settle into bed, having sated themselves with a light lunch and some rather heavy interpersonal interaction, as it were. Molly had, once again, donned the lovely little lacy thing, and Sherlock had, once again, removed it. They lie in each others arms, eyes heavy and hearts light. Sherlock listened to Molly’s regular breaths as she rested her head on his chest, and found he could not resist saying, for the first time ever, “I love you.”

“I know,” came the unexpected reply from the supposedly sleeping form. “I just wish you’d known sooner.” With that, she nestled even further into his arms, and his life, and his heart and soul, smiling once again when she heard him respond, “Me, too!”

**Author's Note:**

> Visit my blog at HooperandHolmes.wordpress.com


End file.
